If a home exists only in one’s memories, then what would it look like? Will it have space for the nearby shrine or the fair price shop down the road as well? What about the neighbourhood you grew up in, the festivals you celebrated and the people you hung out with, even the ones you resented?
Remembering Kurdi directed by Saumyananda Sahi reconstructs one such home through the memories of the people who used to live in it. Kurdi census town in South Goa, was submerged after the Salaulim dam was constructed over the river over three decades ago. Around 550 families were asked to relocate but Kurdi’s story didn’t end there. Sahi’s film, set in more recent times, is about a ritual that the erstwhile residents of Kurdi conduct where they return to the town each year even though there is almost no trace of it left. Sahi wonders aloud about what drives their journey back to a home that no longer exists. Can it be nostalgia and longing alone?
Even though Sahi’s camera cannot see Kurdi in its physical form, it can see the town through the eyes of the people, their memories, family photographs and anecdotes. Sahi begins as an outsider to the imposing landscape and gradually blends in, quietly recording everyday histories of ordinary residents. There is a charm to Sahi’s style of filmmaking. It does not make judgments, it doesn’t even force you towards a particular interpretation. With remarkable visuals of the landscape and breathtakingly beautiful shots of the river and the rain, Sahi makes it hard for you to take sides in a tale that is supposed to be about the river versus its people. And Kurdi’s residents too exude a sense of warmth, they don’t seem to blame the river even after so many years and it is this optimism that informs the film’s outlook.
A cinematography graduate of FTII, this is Sahi’s second directorial venture and is produced by Films Division. The film was recently screened as part of the Doc@Everest series organised by Vikalp in Bengaluru and has been selected to be a part of the upcoming Jio Mami Mumbai Film Festival, 2016.
Excerpts from an interview with the filmmaker:
What drew you to Kurdi?
I heard about the village through the dissertation of Venisha Fernandes whose father is from Kurdi. Her professor introduced me to her work. While Venisha’s work focussed on the Christian community, she also looked at the annual return to Kurdi as a return to a space that embodies so much meaning. I was interested in exploring this further.
With a camera in hand, was it easy to get people to talk about a place that is so close to their heart?
It is exactly like how you might meet someone on a bus or a plane, you become friends with them and gradually end up talking about your lives with each other. The camera, of course, is an added impediment. As a filmmaker, there are also various other practices that you employ to reduce the intrusions. I, for instance, cover my face with a cloth while shooting. So, when I’m filming, my face is the camera. It is not my hand, it is my face. The most unsettling difference for people is the difference between the human eye and the camera’s lens. When you cover your eyes, then the lens is your eye. Also a number of the practices of filmmaking like saying ‘cut’ and ‘roll’ have become redundant over the years. The crew on my film do not talk technical while shooting. There is also no beginning and ending to the conversation I have with the people I’m filming or talking about. So, no difference between rolling and not rolling.
How much do you plan when you shoot a film like this? You slipped in references to musicians such as Mogubai and Kishoribai Amonkar who were residents of Kurdi ...
I deliberately chose not to focus too much on figures like Amonkar who is very famous and has her ties with the place. My focus was firmly on the people who came back frequently. I wanted it to be their story.
Why does the documentary as a form appeal to you?
I enjoy myself most when I’m filming a documentary. Partly because, as a cameraman, I feel I’m also a performer. When people talk about the documentary, they tend to give too much emphasis on the act of documenting itself, whereas I see it more as an interaction- where you to respond to things and people. I call it a performance because it doesn’t happen twice. I feel it is closer to the performing arts that way. The fiction film, in contrast, is much more planned.
Why would you say ‘performance’ particularly?
In the documentary, you’re trying to channelise a story out of everyday life. That’s why it is a conversation. There is so much that is out of your control, happening as it is, but then you are also expressing your concerns and your framing of that world. I always compare the shooting of documentary films and fiction films to the difference between hunter/gatherers and farmers. The objective of both is to eat but the approach is different.
I think one of the turning points in my career so far was when I shot a film called Rangbhumi for Kamal Swaroop, which won the National Award. One of the maxims that Kamal tells everybody is that we need to shoot fiction films like documentaries and documentaries like fiction films. The demarcation anyway is just for the market when ideally both forms can enrich each other.
In a film like Remembering Kurdi , does your work remain in the domain of cinema or can it also be called activism?
I would like to call it a conversation because in a conversation you need not be judgemental. For me, it is a subject that I’m interested in and what better way to learn more about it than by making a film about it! But it is also equally true that people invest in your film. The film affects people’s lives, policy and how communities react to each other. Perhaps there is a thin line. While making a documentary, there is always this confusion whether you are an outsider or an insider.
